I raised my eyebrows hopefully. “I don’t suppose you have another sandwich in that cooler?”
He shoved the rest of his lunch in his mouth. “Nope.”
Jayce climbed out of the truck and resumed cleaning up trash, leaving me feeling like a jerk.
9
Charlotte
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. My ankle ached from where I’d twisted it, and soon I had blisters on the sides of my feet where the straps rubbed. It didn’t help that I was hungover, sweaty, and tired.
We pulled up to the community center, where the woman—Mindy, Jayce had called her—was waiting with her clipboard. Jayce signed the time sheet first, and then she handed it to me and pointed at the bottom.
I started to sign, then stopped. “This says I only did seven hours today. I worked eight.” I pointed at Jayce’s section. “You marked him down for eight.”
“You were late,” the butch woman said flatly. “Be on time tomorrow.”
I gritted my teeth but signed it anyways. I just wanted today to beover.
I turned to ask Jayce what people did for fun in this town, but he was already climbing back into his pickup and driving away. I watched his truck turn and disappear down main street.
“Hungry?” Mindy asked.
“How’d you know?”
“Diner has good food,” she said. “Granted, I’m biased ‘cause it’smydiner. But it’s the truth.”
I followed her over to the diner, which was clean on the inside and smelled strongly of coffee and bacon. A weary-looking man in the first booth immediately raised his mug and said, “Coffee?”
“Damn, Flop. That’s the third cup.”
“Got a late night ahead of me,” he said defensively. “Theyalways come by on Tuesday night.” He waved the coffee mug in the air.
“Hold your horses. I’m comin’.” Mindy shook her head and led me to a booth farther away from him. “Don’t mind Flop. He owns the bar across the street. Also, he’s a horse’s ass.”
“I heard that!” he called from the first booth.
“That’s ‘cause I wanted you to hear it. Eat your damn sausages and mind your beeswax.”
“Thanks,” I said when she handed me a menu. I was hungry to the point that all the food looked amazing. “What’s good here?”
“Everything,” she said blandly.
“Um. What’s your favorite?”
“Depends on the night.”
I handed her the menu. “Bring me whatever you’d eat if you were simultaneously hungover, starving, and exhausted.”
She took it. “One breakfast special, coming right up.”
The breakfast special was practically my own buffet of food: two pancakes, two waffles, two slices of toast, bacon, sausage links, scrambled eggs, and a bowl of grits swimming in butter. I wolfed down the waffles and pancakes with lots of syrup, then tackled the bacon and sausage. I slathered grape jam on the toast before eating it, then finished up with the eggs and grits.
While I ate with one hand, I used the other to rub my feet. My ankle was swollen, and the blood blisters were turning from purple to black.Thatwas attractive. I needed to make sure I found my sneakers tonight.
I need to make sure I don’t get pass-out drunk tonight, I thought with a grimace. One night of drinking and feeling sorry for myself was plenty. Best not make it a habit.
Thinking about last night reminded me ofwhyI’d been drinking. Scott’s voicemail about Tammy. Eventually I would need to talk to him, but for now all I could do was focus on the last bit of my dinner.